


Bad Blood

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Vampire Greg Lestrade, Vampire Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: Sherlock's bloodstream needs purified. Lestrade has an unorthodox method for helping him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Quick little one-shot posted [on my tumblr](https://wastingyourgum.tumblr.com/post/15882479464/and-just-because-i-feel-like-it) five years ago(!) and completely forgotten about until a kind commenter reminded me I'd never archived it here!

Lestrade kicked open the door, sending the flimsy lock flying across the tiny, dank bedsit. He took in the room at a glance and swore loudly as he crouched by the young man's body. “What the fuck have you done to yourself now?”   
  
Sherlock was sprawled facedown on the floor. His eyes were open but glazed and unfocused, dried vomit crusted his lips and his breathing was shallow and uneven.  Lestrade didn’t need any of his _other_ senses to tell him Sherlock was in serious trouble.   
  
Lestrade was extremely careful about using things like his enhanced strength when anyone else was around - especially Sherlock - but Sherlock was completely out of it so he decided to risk it. He scooped Sherlock off the floor into his arms, carried him over to the ratty couch and put him down as lightly as if he were a child.  
  
“You bloody idiot,” Lestrade growled as he felt for a pulse - it was fast and erratic and growing weaker by the second. If he didn’t do anything the young man was almost certain to die.   
  
“Must be something genetic that makes you Holmes boys into wankers. Your great great uncle was just as bad.” Lestrade slid his hands under Sherlock’s back and lifted him up. His lips drew back to let his canine teeth extend and as they pierced through pale skin, he clamped his mouth to Sherlock’s neck. The first mouthful made him gag and he spat scarlet onto the floor. “Ugh!” The taste of the drugs in Sherlock’s blood was like drinking a fine wine mixed with urine.   
  
Lestrade bit his wrist and held it over Sherlock’s mouth. He held his arm steady, drop by drop trickling unaided down Sherlock’s throat then he steeled himself and bent once more to Sherlock’s neck, forcing himself to swallow the vile fluid. It might taste rotten but it was still blood and the drugs would have no effect on him.   
  
By the time Lestrade lifted his head again, some colour had returned to Sherlock’s face and his pulse had steadied. It was still faint but at least now it was regular.  
  
Lestrade licked over the wound on Sherlock’s neck and it closed with no sign it had ever been there. He did the same to his wrist so there was no trace of blood on either of them, other than a faint metallic tang to Sherlock’s breath.  
  
Sherlock coughed and showed gradual signs of stirring. He groaned and his tongue darted out in a feeble attempt to wet his lips.   
  
Lestrade gently laid Sherlock back down then ran to the kitchen for a glass of water. He came back and held the glass steady as Sherlock sipped at the cool water. “Easy does it…”   
  
Sherlock’s eyes flickered open and he turned his mouth away. “Ugh, is that from the tap? It tastes of metal.”  
  
“Probably lead pipes in a flat this old - wouldn’t surprise me.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Sherlock rasped.  
  
“Saving your sorry skin, you ungrateful sod. Another five minutes and I’d probably have been too late.”  
  
“Saving my…? Oh. Yes. Where…?” Sherlock looked around the room until his eyes lit on a packet on the floor by the table. “It must have been cut with something I wasn’t expecting. I’ll need to test it and see what–”  
  
“You’ll need to lie there and do nothing while I flush that crap down the loo.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“Sherlock, by all rights I should be arresting you for having that.”  
  
Sherlock lay back and put his arm over his eyes as if he was some swooning maiden from an Austen novel. “You won’t, you need me. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”  
  
“I need you _clean_ and _sober_.”  
  
“I am sober.” Sherlock replied. His body stiffened and then he slowly lifted his arm away and fixed Lestrade with a penetrating stare. “I _am_ sober. Completely. What did you do?”  
  
 _Bugger_. “I… er…”  
  
Sherlock stood up and almost leapt over the coffee table.“I’m not only sober, I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time. What have you given me?”  
  
“Nothing! I haven’t given you anything.”  
  
Sherlock snatched up his glass and sniffed at it. “Something in the water? That taste was… like I’d bitten my tongue or…”  
  
“Sherlock, calm down. There was nothing in the water.”  
  
“Can’t have been an injection - you’d have had trouble finding a vein.”  
  
“No, no injection either.”  
  
“Then what? What could you possibly have given me to counteract that reaction and make me feel better?” Sherlock was striding around the room now. “There’s not a single drug I can think of, certainly nothing legal anyway, not to get this kind of euphoria. God, I feel…” He darted over and grabbed Lestrade’s coat by the lapels. “What did you give me? I _have_ to know!”  
  
Lestrade closed his hands over Sherlock’s bunched fists. “Something I shouldn’t have and never will again,” he said quietly.  
  
“But–”  
  
“No. Sleep now.” Lestrade looked hard into Sherlock’s eyes. He wasn’t surprised that Sherlock took far more effort to charm than most ordinary people but even his will was no match for Lestrade’s years of experience.  
  
The young man blinked twice then slumped awkwardly against Lestrade’s body as he passed out. Lestrade swept him up into his arms again and put him back down on the sofa to sleep it off…


End file.
